


Safe Hands

by kiyala



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi is part of him in a way that music isn't; perhaps Oikawa needs both in his life just as much as each other, but while music is a challenge that pushes him, Iwaizumi is a constant, grounding him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sumaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumaru/gifts).



> Happy birthday Lin!! <3

"It's late, Oikawa."

Iwaizumi is standing in the doorway, wearing a hoodie, his pyjama pants, and a deep frown. Oikawa lowers his flute, raising his eyebrows as he smiles.

"Now, Iwa-chan, how come you have after-hours access to the practice rooms?"

Iwaizumi doesn't answer, stepping inside and letting the door fall shut behind him. He rubs a hand over his face, still frowning. "It's four o'clock in the morning, you idiot. You need to stop doing this."

"Doing what?" Oikawa asks blankly, turning back to his music stand and raising his flute to his lips again.

Iwaizumi growls loudly with irritation. "If you're going to practice so late, at least make sure you're standing with the right posture. Shithead."

Before Oikawa can reply, Iwaizumi steps closer, warm against his back. His hands are on Oikawa's hips, adjusting his posture gently. He lifts Oikawa's elbow a little higher, fingers brushing against his skin. Iwaizumi's hands are strong and firm as they guide him, rough with calluses from his cello strings. Oikawa feels safe in them. He always has.

"Why is it that you know so much about the right posture for flautists?" he complains lightly. "It's unfair that you know so much."

"It's because you refuse to stand properly," Iwaizumi mutters, pinching the skin on Oikawa's arm.

"Ow," Oikawa protests, moving his arm away. His elbow twinges, making his breath hitch sharply. Iwaizumi suddenly goes very still behind him.

"Where does it hurt?" Iwaizumi asks, his voice quiet. When he doesn't get a reply, he raises his voice a little. "Oikawa…"

"It's my right elbow," Oikawa mutters as Iwaizumi turns him around so they're facing each other. He doesn't meet Iwaizumi's eye, even as his flute is pulled out of his hands.

"You hurt it again." Iwaizumi's voice is flat. He reaches for Oikawa's arm but doesn't actually touch it, like he's afraid to. Like Oikawa's made of glass and even the lightest touch is going to make him shatter to pieces. Oikawa would rather a punch to the face than having to watch the way Iwaizumi's brows draw together, like he's _scared_.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa speaks up, because he needs to break the silence before it suffocates him. "Do you remember the time you threw your bow rosin at me? And it hit my forehead so hard that it started bleeding?"

That, at least, makes Iwaizumi crack a smile. "How would I forget, when you insist on bringing it up at every chance you get?"

"Well, why is it," Oikawa asks, "that it's fine when you hit me, but it's not okay when I hurt myself?"

Iwaizumi flinches, taking a step back. Oikawa steps forward, so that they're still in each other's space.

"I'm not asking you to stop, because that would be—weird," Oikawa tells him. And because he deserves to be hit, but he knows better than to voice that thought. "It's just—"

"I don't hurt you like this," Iwaizumi tells him, fingers tensing in the air just by Oikawa's elbow, still not touching it. "I don't…"

He trails off, frowning. Oikawa sighs, taking his flute back from Iwaizumi and grabbing the front of his hoodie, pulling him into a light kiss.

"I love you," Iwaizumi mutters against Oikawa's lips. "You make me so angry, but I love you, okay? And this hurts. Watching you do this to yourself…"

"I'm sorry," Oikawa replies.

"Don't apologise to me, it's weird," Iwaizumi snorts quietly. "Just… come back to bed. Come on."

Oikawa nods, taking his flute apart and packing it back into its case. He carries it with one hand and holds Iwaizumi's hand with the other. Iwaizumi uses his student card to let them out. The campus is dark and Oikawa looks up at the sky, silently marvelling at the stars overhead. He looks back down to find Iwaizumi watching him, his expression soft and fond in the darkness. Oikawa kisses him hard, pressing close. Iwaizumi kisses back, wrapping an arm around Oikawa's shoulders to keep him where he is.

"I'll blow you when we get home," Oikawa murmurs.

"I just want to sleep," Iwaizumi murmurs, his voice thick with the exhaustion that he must have been holding back earlier. Oikawa remembers him mentioning that it's past four, and feels a little guilty. Iwaizumi pecks Oikawa on the lips, then pulls away. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Yeah," Oikawa agrees, smiling.

They get back to their apartment, just off campus. Oikawa puts his flute case down beside Iwaizumi's cello case, crawling into bed without bothering to change. Iwaizumi settles beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist with a small, satisfied hum. Now that he allows himself to feel it, Oikawa is tired too. He shuts his eyes, leaning into Iwaizumi's familiar warmth, falling asleep immediately.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa wakes up the next day to find that Iwaizumi isn't in bed with him. Lying there for a moment, he blinks groggily until he realises that it's Wednesday. Iwaizumi has classes all morning, starting from nine o'clock through until one in the afternoon.

And because of Oikawa, he was up past four. He didn't even mention it to Oikawa when they were in the practice room, and now he's probably exhausted in class. Oikawa covers his face with his hands. He's the worst person in the entire world.

He rolls onto his side, grabbing his phone off the bedside table to check the time. It's half past nine, which explains why he still feels so tired, but _he_ isn't the one in back-to-back classes, operating on less than five hours of sleep.

He sends a text to Iwaizumi: _I want you to know how much I love and appreciate you being in my life. I didn't mean to keep you up so late last night. It wasn't even in the fun way :(_

He doesn't expect a reply, but his phone buzzes with two messages in quick succession:

_wtf, go back to sleep shittykawa_

_love you too, get some rest ok?_

Oikawa smiles, holding his phone to his chest, and falls asleep again.

 

* * *

 

The next time he wakes up, it's closer to midday. Iwaizumi has one class left before he comes home and Oikawa rolls out of bed, stretching and yawning. He has a look through the fridge for last night's leftovers, satisfied to find that there's enough to mean he doesn't need to cook. He starts the rice cooker and takes a long bath, letting the hot water relax his muscles.

There's still some time left once he's dressed. The rice cooker is done and has automatically set itself to stay warm until it's needed. Oikawa leaves it, opening his flute case. He puts his flute together and stands in the middle of the lounge room, not needing his music stand. He's long since memorised his pieces and he takes a deep breath, being mindful of his posture, making sure not to strain his elbow.

His fingers are light and quick, from countless hours of practice. His teachers have always praised his technique, telling him that it's of the highest quality. It's become a point of pride for him—though Iwaizumi would argue that _everything_ is a point of pride, where Oikawa is concerned.

The thing is, Oikawa isn't a prodigy. He isn't a genius, and the only reason that he's good enough to have any kind of reputation at all is because he wants to be. He wants to be the absolute best and if that means that he needs to practice twice as hard, for twice as long, he'll do it. He'll keep practicing until the music flows from him so naturally that nobody can tell that he's been pushing his limits so far that it's starting to break him. None of that matters in a recital. He just has one chance; one performance. It doesn't matter if his hands cramp afterwards, or if his back hurts from standing so straight for so long. Nobody is going to notice, or know.

"I thought I told you to get some rest," Iwaizumi says from the doorway. 

Oikawa smiles to himself. Nearly nobody.

"I did, Iwa-chan," he replies. "And then you still weren't home when I finished resting, so I thought I'd get some practice in."

"You're impossible," Iwaizumi sighs, putting his bag down against the wall and walking closer. He rests his hand on Oikawa's back, silently correcting his posture. He presses his forehead against Oikawa's shoulder and sighs quietly. "I wish you could hear what I do when you play. You sound so light and beautiful. It's so obvious that you have a good handle on your technique and a feel for what you're playing. You're amazing, and you don't need to keep pushing yourself like this when we both know that these pieces are as much a part of you as your heartbeat." 

"As much a part of me as you are," Oikawa murmurs, leaning back against Iwaizumi with a smile. "You know, Iwa-chan, you're usually a man of few words but you sure can say some sappy things when you want to."

"Fuck off," Iwaizumi grumbles, headbutting Oikawa's shoulder. "I won't say anything next time, I'll just hit you instead. How about that?"

Oikawa smiles even wider, tipping his head back to rest against Iwaizumi's. "Lunch is ready, if you're hungry."

"Good, I am. I'll get the bowls out. Pack your flute away."

It doesn't matter how long it's been, but being domestic with Iwaizumi makes Oikawa's chest tighten, like it can't actually contain all the happiness. Being with Iwaizumi like this feels so incredibly natural, like it only makes sense that they're here, sharing their meals, sharing an apartment, sharing a life. Iwaizumi is part of him in a way that music isn't; perhaps Oikawa needs both in his life just as much as each other, but while music is a challenge that pushes him, Iwaizumi is a constant, grounding him. 

"Hey, Iwa-chan," Oikawa speaks up, once they've finished eating and are sitting on the couch together, leaning into each other. Iwaizumi's eyelids are drooping but he's too stubborn to go to bed. Oikawa is happy to let Iwaizumi lean against his shoulder instead. "What do you think we'd be doing, if we didn't play music?"

Blinking his eyes open, Iwaizumi grunts quietly. "I don't know. I have no idea what I'd end up doing instead, but I know that I'd still be with you anyway. That's what matters, right?"

Oikawa beams. "You are _so_ sappy." 

"Shut up," Iwaizumi mutters. "I hate you." 

"You love me. I even have written proof _and_ you said it twice last night. Twice! Don't be shy, Iwa-chan, you can say it again. I don't mind. You can tell me how beautiful I am." 

"Why would I? You already know that." Iwaizumi settles against Oikawa's side, shutting his eyes. "I'd tell you something you _don't_ know. Like the fact that you're talented."

"I _do_ know that," OIkawa argues. 

"You don't believe it, though. That you're talented, that you're amazing at what you do, that you work harder than anyone else I know." Iwaizumi presses his lips to Oikawa's jaw. "You're good enough, Oikawa. I love you." 

"I knew that last bit," Oikawa murmurs, grinning when Iwaizumi elbows him. 

"You're annoying as fuck."

"And _you're_ mean. You're lucky I love you too."


End file.
